


BFF

by Shaish



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A little serious, Gen, Humor, M/M, Sam POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So if <i>Sam's</i> Steve's kind of BFF now and Bucky's <i>definitely</i> Steve's BFF, what does that make them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	BFF

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vespertineflora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespertineflora/gifts).



> Started because of Vesper and I talking about this post: http://realwintersoldier.tumblr.com/post/99244165549  
> The laundry idea is entirely Vesper's idea and she linked me to April Fool's pranks which is where the ketchup one came from. I didn't even know ketchup could do that omg.

So, finding Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier, the _Ghost_ of the Intelligence Community, ends up taking _two years_. Two years of Sam helping Steve look up any information they could get their hands on (and some they couldn’t).

The first year was brutal, before it really sunk in for Steve how long the search could end up taking. Not that Steve wasn’t prepared to look for forever if that’s what it took, but the hope for a more immediate resolution gets the best of, well, the best. Sam spent it trying to keep Steve from driving himself into the ground, and a little after New Years, Steve looked over at him and said, “I get it now. Thank you,” and then Steve started sleeping a little more, ate better, actually washed his clothes more than once every two weeks, and overall just started taking care of himself again.

Besides, Sam didn’t need to remind him that you can’t find someone else if you lose yourself along the way.

They end up finding _The Ghost_ in an abandoned farmhouse a little outside of Nebraska, of all places. And while it makes absolutely no sense at all for The Winter Soldier to be there, that’s exactly what makes it the perfect place for him to be.

And, it turns out, he’s more ‘Bucky Barnes’ than ‘Winter Soldier’ when he finally talks (only to Steve, doing that creepy blank stare whenever Sam tried to take a step inside the _barn_ ), all slight Brooklyn accent that’s somehow managed to survive decades by hanging on by a thread and emotions behind his eyes that aren’t bogged down by being overwhelmed by literally _everything_ (which they learn later. That Bucky Barnes spent a year getting flashes and sensory overloads from more things in a day than Sam could count on both his hands _and_ toes, sometimes including Steve’s, too).

Still, even with programming muddling his thoughts, making his stare go blank every two minutes while he’s talking, overloaded with something else triggered by any one of his senses (though they also find out later that it’s mostly _Steve_ causing that), Steve manages to get him to come with them.

The Winter Soldier walks past Sam, but it’s Bucky Barnes who gives him a _look_ that Sam can’t quite place.

\--

Sam is not dumb.

The day they found Bucky Barnes and headed out towards their truck, Sam tripping when he passed by Bucky? He’d whipped right around, sure he’d felt a leg, but Bucky Barnes was already three-fourths of the way climbing into the back seat.

Sam had shrugged it off and got in the passenger seat.

\--

The first diner Bucky Barnes let them stop at on the way back (thirteen hours on the road. _Thirteen hours_ ) and sent Sam in for the food? It made sense. Steve was still recognizable, Bucky Barnes had a metal arm and a head full of issues. Sam was the best guy for the job.

The fact that Sam saw them both talking in the truck on his way out of the convenience store and as soon as Bucky Barnes noticed him he immediately stopped talking? It was fine. It made sense. Steve was familiar (at least enough for Sam to catch Bucky Barnes mouthing “ _haul your ass out_ -” from just outside the convenience store doors before his lips stopped moving) and Bucky Barnes didn’t know him.

Sam got back in the truck, handed out food and drinks, took shift so Steve could use the restroom, and waited in tense silence.

But it was fine. Bucky Barnes didn’t know him, and Sam didn’t know Bucky Barnes. Steve was their common link, and Bucky Barnes had been through Hell. If he didn’t want to talk to Sam, he didn’t have to.

\--

The _look_ he got again when Steve asked if they could stay with Sam? No big deal. It wasn’t even a dirty look, just-

It took him a minute to place it, but it looked like he was _surprised_ , even if Bucky Barnes’ expressions were at least half shuttered at all times. Sam could still see it, he’s had to adjust to reading minute facial expression in his work (and with _Steve_. No one mentioned in the history books that the guy could hide just about anything behind his ridiculous baby blues, but Sam probably should’ve known better), as well as the confusion, and then the eventual suspicion.

But it was fine. Bucky Barnes didn’t know him, and Sam didn’t know Bucky Barnes.

\--

It’s been a week since then. He has tripped a total of four times (passing Bucky Barnes twice, Bucky Barnes’ carelessly discarded jacket once, some sort of rope contraption Sam could’ve _sworn_ they only used in _Rambo_ movies), stubbed his toe three times (another discarded jacket, dodging another rope contraption, Bucky Barnes opening a damn _door_ into his toes right when Sam was about to push it open), has had two of his drinks explode on him when he opened them (Steve had laughed, doubled over and tearing up, hands at his middle, and that might’ve made getting doused with sticky, fizzy pop worth it. Sam hadn’t seen him honestly _laugh_ in nearly those _whole two years_. Bucky Barnes had just stared at him, eyebrows slightly raised like he had _no idea pop could **do** that_. Sam didn't buy it for a second), found a bolt from a complicated part of his wings on the counter that Bucky Barnes was drinking his coffee next to (“Oh,” Bucky had said, slowly turning his head towards him like it was on a swivel, being generally creepy as fuck, “I found it on the floor. I didn’t know it was from your wings”), and had been charged on his phone _three times now_ for gay porn. _Gay porn_ (Now, Sam when he was a teenager? Not gonna lie, there was some magazines, of a few, experimental kind. Sam as of now? He ain’t got the _time_ , and usually doesn’t have the inclination. He’s still adjusting to being back in his own ways, like Steve).

He’d asked Steve about that last one, but Steve had just shrugged and said, “No, wasn’t me. And I don’t think Bucky would, not yet. Maybe it was a mistake?” (And Bucky Barnes, because Sam is starting to realize that he can be _just as much_ of a little shit as _Steven Rogers_ , had been lurking behind Steve and looking at Sam over Steve’s shoulder, _smirking_. It was small, but Sam is not _blind_ ).

And Sam is not dumb.

He _knows_ Bucky Barnes has a bone to pick with him, and he was just going to let it play out until Bucky Barnes finally got around to bringing it up.

Sam draws a line at the laundry, though. And the massacre of the exploding ketchup bottle that had painted his kitchen ceiling like a crime scene (Sweet, Mrs. McAkerty from next door, bless her soul, did not scream when she asked if she could borrow two and three-fourths cups of sugar and saw the stains. But she _was_ pale as a sheet when Sam turned around and hasn’t been back since. Even kept his damn measuring cup).

The laundry though. You don’t mess with a man’s laundry.

\--

“Hey, Steve!” Sam calls over his shoulder, holding up the single, wet, offending article.

Steve comes to a stop at the laundry room doorway a few moments later, one hand resting on its frame. “Yeah, Sam?” he asks.

“Is this your red sock?” Sam asks, holding it out for Steve to inspect.

Steve squints a little before walking into the room, taking the sock from Sam and turning it over. “No,” he says, turning it back over again before looking up at him, “It looks like it's from a pair Bucky picked out yesterday, though. Why?” he asks, lips pulling up at the sides, “Did it turn your laundry pink?” he jokes.

Sam just gestures at the washer and watches Steve’s eyes follow it, smile dropping off of Steve’s face and eyes widening for all of a second before he starts laughing.

Sam raises an eyebrow when Steve finally looks at him.

“Sorry,” Steve says, wiping at his eyes with his fingers, still shaking with laughter, “I just- Bucky did that to Mr. Finley a few apartments down from ours because he was harassing Ms. Harp across the hall.” Steve’s laughter dies down and he looks at the sock he’s holding for a minute, nostalgia all over his face. Sam won’t find any help _there_.

“Sorry,” Steve says again, looking back up after a moment and looking at least a _little_ apologetic, “I’ll talk to Bucky about it.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sam says, waving a hand, “I’ll do it, if you don’t mind.”

Steve pauses for a moment, looking at him. “Are you sure?” he asks, “I know you guys haven’t exactly been getting along.”

Sam raises an unimpressed eyebrow and Steve ducks his head a little, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand, because that’s a bit of an understatement. Steve looks back up, eyebrows raised in question.

Sam waves his hand again, holding it out towards Steve after.

Steve looks down at it, placing the wet sock in his palm and looking back up.

“I got this,” Sam says, giving Steve a smile.

Steve smiles back, a little hesitant at first, before nodding. “I’ll take care of this,” he offers, stepping aside for Sam to go.

Sam smiles again with a nod and goes off to find Bucky _passive-aggressive-laundry-ruiner_ Barnes.

\--

He’s unbelievably easy to find, especially considering he’s usually holed up in a corner somewhere, shadowing Steve, or on up on the roof at precarious, dangerous angles. He’s sitting on the couch, ignoring the documentary about Sharks, and already staring at the doorway Sam just walked through, expression blank.

Sam pauses for only a moment before he keeps going, deciding to take the slightly more _scenic route_ to the couch by going around the dining room table instead of just straight to it to give himself more time to think.

Bucky Barnes’ eyes stay on him the whole time. If Sam wasn’t used to it by now, he’d be unnerved.

He takes a seat in the armchair diagonal from the couch, setting the sock on the coffee table between them. He’s pretty sure the table will give him enough extra time to _at least_ get Steve’s name out should Bucky Barnes decide to vault over it and strangle him.

“You turned my laundry pink,” Sam opens up with after another minute of them just staring at each other.

Bucky Barnes inclines his head just slightly, just enough to confirm.

“You don’t mess with a man’s laundry, Barnes,” Sam says. Bucky Barnes goes relaxed, the deadly kind, and for all that he’s got a few day’s stubble on his cheeks and his hair in a messy bun, Sam’s all too aware that he’s anything but _not_ lethal.

“There are other things you don’t mess with,” Bucky Barnes returns, quiet, low, left arm whirring briefly, muffled under the long sleeve shirt he’s been wearing since yesterday (Sam’s pretty sure he heard Steve saying something about, “ _the green will bring out your eyes, Buck_ ”).

“You think I’m messing with something?” Sam asks, eyebrows rising a little. Bucky Barnes just stares at him, lowering his head slightly (like a damn _predator_. Yeah. The green _does_ bring out his eyes, along with all of the barely veiled _intentions_ ). “I’m not trying to take anything away from you,” Sam says, raising his hands in mock surrender. Bucky Barnes narrows his eyes. “I’m not,” Sam says more seriously, setting his hands slowly back down into his lap (the last time anyone moved fast around him, it was Steve, and Sam’s _table_ got broken. _This_ coffee table is new), “The guy looked all over the world for you. And yeah, we’re friends, but I’m not trying to take your place. No one could if they tried.”

He’s stared at for what he thinks might be a full minute before Bucky Barnes finally looks away, down at the red sock in thought. Sam waits another full minute or so before asking, “We good?”

Bucky Barnes looks up at him, leaning back against the couch after a moment in something that’s _actually_ more relaxed instead of the ready-to-pounce-and-maim kind. “Call me Bucky,” he says.

Sam nods, smiling. “Bucky it is, then.”

Steve comes out into the room around then - most likely having hard everything - with a smile on his face. And when Sam looks back to Bucky, Bucky’s smiling up at Steve, wider now and still relaxed, and that’s when Sam realizes it.

It wasn’t all about him. Steve’s laughed and smiled the most Sam has ever heard or _seen_ him since they found Bucky, and has even laughed so hard he cried because of some of Bucky’s passive-aggressive antics against Sam. Yeah, Sam was still a large part of it, Bucky _did_ have a bone to pick with him. But-

But even now, after _Hydra_ and _seventy years apart_ and _everything_ , Bucky Barnes still revolves around Steve Rogers.


End file.
